Chapter 28 Woke At The Wrong Side
The next morning, I woke up on a cold stone.
The chill bit straight through my clothes, sharp enough to raise goosebumps across my arms. I groaned at the stiffness clawing through my bones, then pushed myself upright. A dull, throbbing ache split across my forehead. I shut my eyes tight and pressed my palm to my brow.
“Ouch…” I whispered.
After several seconds, the pain eased enough for me to open my eyes. My gaze swept the floor, grey stone, cracked and dusted with frost, and I whispered to myself, “What is this place?”
Behind me, soft groans and yawns echoed against the stone walls. I turned sharply.
Melanie was stirring first, rubbing her arms against the cold. Vincent pushed himself up with a low grunt. Jamie, Cordelia, and Marcus slowly blinked awake, confusion setting heavy on each of their faces.
“What’s going on?” I breathed.
“Oh… why’s the bed so hard?” Vincent muttered, yawning as he stretched his limbs stiffly.
“What is this place?” Melanie whispered, her breath misting in the air.
Cordelia stood abruptly, eyes wide as she turned in a slow circle. “What? How? How did we end up here?”
Jamie stood near the far edge, hugging himself tightly, shivering. “It’s freezing… freezing… freezing in here.”
“Wait… did we sleepwalk our way here?” Vincent asked, sounding half-terrified and half-annoyed, like the thought just dawned on him.
I didn’t answer. I walked straight to the nearest wall and placed my palms against the stone, searching for any seam, lock, or lever. There was nothing. Just flat, merciless stone.
“There’s no way out,” I said, my voice echoing faintly.
“Is this part of the trials? And it’s…” Marcus began.
“Oh, shut it, nerd. No one asked for your opinion,” Jamie snapped. His voice was harsher than usual, brittle from the cold. Marcus shrank instantly, curling into himself as he slid down the wall, drawing his knees to his chest.
“What are we going to do now? How are we supposed to get the hell out of here?” Vincent asked. His gaze flicked toward me, expectant, desperate. “Got any ideas, Lexie?”
I studied the walls again before giving a slow, reluctant shake of my head. “No. No, I don’t.”
Cordelia exhaled sharply and lowered herself into a squat. “Ugh… I’m starving,” she murmured, mostly to herself.
I leaned back against the wall, letting my weight sink into the freezing stone. A quiet settled over us, thick, heavy, oppressive. Only the faint whistle of cold air prickled through the chamber.
Half an hour passed in that tense silence.
Jamie, strangely, said nothing. He stood rigid in the corner, arms wrapped so tightly around himself that his knuckles had gone white. He trembled uncontrollably. The others were cold as well, but Jamie looked as if he were about to collapse.
Vincent’s breath puffed visibly in the air. “I don’t want to die like this,” he muttered.
“No one is dying,” Melanie said quietly. Her voice carried a strange, steady calm.
Then, without warning, the wall nearest to Vincent shifted.
Stone scraped against stone as a vertical segment drew itself open like a mouth. We all jerked backward, startled. A draft of colder air drifted in. Beyond the newly formed opening, a small alcove revealed itself, holding a lone wooden table with a glass bottle atop it. Inside the bottle: several folded pieces of paper.
We gathered around it slowly, cautiously, like approaching something sacred, or cursed. The bottle looked impossibly out of place, pristine, as though someone had placed it there moments before we woke.
“I think Marcus is right,” Melanie said softly, staring at it. “We’re in the second trial.”
“What was the trial’s name again?” Vincent asked.
Jamie snapped, irritated, “What do you need the trial’s name for?”
“That’s—”
“We don’t have time for this now,” I cut in. “We need to find a way out.”
I stepped forward. The table bore a small brass plate, words carved in unnervingly neat cursive: Pick One.
“It says pick one,” I told them. “Just like the first trial. Maybe one of these papers will tell us how to get out of here.”
They watched me closely, too closely, as though my single action might trigger something catastrophic.
I reached into the bottle and pulled out one of the folded papers. The room seemed to hold its breath. Their expressions were tight, tense, almost fearful.
I unfolded the slip.
My breath paused.
“What does it say?” Vincent asked, stepping closer.
I lifted my head, my voice flat. “Water.”